Russell John Murrell: Pilot. Grandfather. Father. Husband. Born Sept. 22, 1937, in Vancouver; died Dec. 20, 2024, in Cloverdale, B.C., of medically assisted death; aged 87.
Russell John Murrell.Courtesy of family
To know Russ was to know his many turns of phrase (“That’s the ticket!”), one of the small ways he expressed joy. He loved to play and tinker and joke, especially with his four grandchildren. Tumbling rocks and agates, shooting BB guns, an extra serving of dessert when mom wasn’t looking and annual camping trips at Cultus Lake, in B.C.’s Fraser Valley.
Those trips offered a glimpse of who he was as a younger man. The campground clubhouse featured a pool table that the kids would monopolize for hours. Papa, as his grandkids called him, would occasionally join. He was an ace. Any shot, any angle. Straight in the pocket.
“Where’d you learn to do that?” we’d ask.
“When you spend enough time in bars, you pick up these skills,” he said.
Russ joined the Royal Canadian Air Force right out of high school. He earned his wings in 1958 and in 1960 received the Vincent Trophy, awarded to Canada’s top aerial marksmen, at the Air Defence Command’s annual rocket shoot in Cold Lake, Alta.
Over the next 10 years, he was stationed at military bases across Canada and in Europe, coinciding with Canada’s role in the Cold War.
During that same period, Russ married his first wife, Kay Morrow, and welcomed three daughters in five years: Chris, Heidi and Robyn. They remember many nights on base in Chatham, N.B., when their dad had to leave in the middle of the night, the sirens calling the pilots for patrol. Russ slept with his flight suit and boots beside his bed. Tensions ran high.
His struggles with drinking began during this time. The impacts of his addiction were felt by his family the most, it led to divorce and many years of long-distance, often absentee parenting.
After he retired from the Air Force, Russ rarely spoke of his years flying, but once a pilot, always a pilot. His granddaughter Kaitlyn loved watching him drive. She never got to fly with him, so this was the next best thing.
His blue Ford Escape was equipped with a manual drive mode and he put the gear shifter through its paces. Instead of using the brake, he’d meticulously shift down at every red light. He was in control.
The first half of Russ’s life moved fast and left little room for self-reflection. The second half was decidedly different.
He met Joyce Harries when he was 44. A second marriage for both, it took them 12 years to tie the knot. Their union defined “in sickness and in health.” Joyce witnessed many relapses and supported Russ on his sobriety journey.
Throughout their struggles, Russ and Joyce set a good example for what retirement can be. They travelled, kept a beautiful, well-kept garden and most importantly, spent lots of time with family.
Joyce’s devotion to Russ was returned when she later developed Alzheimer’s and required more care. Russ refused to move her to an assisted-living facility and dismissed support from both family and nurses. He said it was his time to give.
But he had started giving back long before then; to neighbours, friends, distant relatives and his daughters. He had become the person you call when you need help the most.
Recovering from surgery? Convalesce at his home.
Need a place to store a fixer-upper sports car? Russ’s driveway had a spot.
Transitioning jobs? He’d float you until you were back on your feet.
Those were the public acts. Many more went unnoticed, unannounced.
In 2018, he underwent multiple surgeries for esophageal cancer. It left him unable to chew and swallow food. The next year, he elected to undergo another surgery in the hopes of being able to eat normally once again. The procedure was risky. Working with his surgeon, they pressed forward with an all-or-nothing approach. If the surgery was going to plan, he’d wake up.
On paper he was cancer-free, but he remained frail and underweight. In late 2024, he developed pneumonia and his body began to shut down.
In his final days, Russ’s request for a medically assisted death was granted. He was at peace, finally in control over his body and mind.
Kaitlyn Rosenburg is Russ Murrell’s granddaughter.
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Lives Lived celebrates the everyday, extraordinary, unheralded lives of Canadians who have recently passed. To learn how to share the story of a family member or friend, go online to tgam.ca/livesguide
